


These Hands Had to Let It Go Free

by Ffup



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Rating will likely go up later on, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-06-26 21:42:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15671865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ffup/pseuds/Ffup
Summary: When Roxas is six years old, he falls off a bike. Little does he know he would gain something much, much better than just a few cuts and bruises from it.





	1. Chapter 1

When Roxas is six years old, he falls off a bike.

He is racing down the hill at top speed just like Dad has warned him _not_ to do, but Roxas doesn’t care because he thinks this is the closest he will ever get to flying. The world around him becomes a blur of colour and the rush of wind against his cheeks is exhilarating. There is an empty space somewhere between his throat and legs where his stomach used to be, and the feeling of weightlessness pulls his lips into a wide, wild smile. The air tastes like freedom.

The moment of carefree excitement is shattered when a cat sprints into Roxas’s field of vision from somewhere to his right. He panics, slams the brakes, swerves, loses control of the bike and then he _flies_. For one fleeting, invigorating moment gravity loses its grip on him, and Roxas forgets to fear the end of his trajectory, for he is afloat.

Until he isn’t.

The world flashes red when Roxas hits the pavement knees first. The pain comes fast like lightning and rumbles on his skin and in his bones like thunder. It _hurts_ , hurts worse than the time he fell from a tree onto his back and for several seconds he thought he was going to die because he couldn’t breathe. Roxas doesn’t feel like he’s dying now, but his knees and the palms of his hands sting and burn as if a thousand nurses were pricking him with iron-hot needles.

The thought of nurses makes Roxas think of his mom and the way she holds his hand whenever he has to go in for a blood test. He very nearly cries because he wishes she was there right now, her hand big and warm and comforting around his.

Roxas is still on his hands and knees trying to recover from the shock of the fall and calm his ragged breathing when he hears rapid footsteps coming closer. His heart soars momentarily because maybe Mom has heard his wish and come home early to take care of him.

But then a pair of bare feet that definitely don’t belong to his mom appear in front of Roxas, and a voice he doesn’t recognise accuses, “You almost hit Flurry.”

Roxas looks up at the owner of the slightly dirty feet and blinks. Once. Twice. He wonders if the pain has altered his vision permanently because no one can possibly have hair as blindingly red as the boy standing before him. “What?” Roxas asks, his voice wobbly from the held-back tears, but he hopes the boy doesn’t notice.

“You almost hit Flurry.” The boy crosses his arms and glares at Roxas with eyes that are as shockingly green as Roxas’s favourite slime. “Her full name is Flurry of Dancing Flames because she’s orange and quick and fierce like fire, but everyone just calls her Flurry.” Roxas still doesn’t know who the redhead is talking about, and it must show in the way he scrunches his eyebrows together because the other boy huffs and rolls his eyes. “Flurry is a cat. _My_ cat and you almost run her over with your bike. I saw everything so don’t try to deny it.”

“It’s not my fault you let her run free,” Roxas argues as he starts to push himself into a sitting position, trying not to whimper when the pressure brings a new wave of blinding pain with it, but he can feel an embarrassed blush warming his cheeks because he knows he shouldn’t have been going so fast. Dad had warned him and now he wouldn’t be allowed to ride his bike for at least two weeks.

“Flurry is a free soul, she can’t be put on a leash or she gets sad.” The boy keeps rambling on about the cat, but Roxas ignores him as he inspects the cuts on his palms and knees. They are an angry sort of red, the skin torn open in four points of contact and oozing blood. There are small stones burrowing into the bared flesh, and it makes Roxas’s skin crawl to see them nestled there. What if no one can get them out and they grow and grow and grow until Roxas is made of stone himself? Will he be put in a museum for others to ogle at? Is this how statues are made?

Roxas is startled from his thoughts when the boy with hair like fire crouches down and grabs Roxas’s left hand to look at it more closely. The grip is firm and impossibly warm and Roxas thinks the other boy must have a fever.

“You’re bleeding.” For a second, the boy’s voice is much softer than before, like feathers, but then he turns his vivid gaze back to Roxas and Roxas has to look away from the intensity of it. “Why didn’t you say that you’re hurt? These have to be cleaned at once or they will get infected. I know because my mother is a doctor and she’s told me what to do if I hurt myself.” The redhead rises and drags Roxas with him, careful not to touch the wound on his palm. “Come on, let’s go inside. You’re lucky that Mother’s home, she’s usually busy at the hospital. She knows how to make people better.”

As a fairly quiet child, Roxas is used to being around people who talk more than him, but this boy would beat even Sora, Roxas’s older brother, at a contest for the longest monologue. Roxas is briefly stunned by the sheer number of words being flung at him and then even more so when the stream stops and he has a chance to say something himself.

“Are you sure it’s okay? I can go home. I live just on top of the hill.” Roxas turns to point to where he can see the red-painted roof of his home. In truth, he doesn’t want to go home just yet because although his dad knows how to clean all sorts of injuries, he would also be giving him a lecture about following rules as soon as the cuts were taken care of. Roxas knows he has to go soon or Dad will get worried, but he can stay a little longer.

The other boy rolls his eyes again, as if he can’t believe Roxas is questioning his words. “Of course it’s okay, I wouldn’t have said so if it wasn’t. Besides, is either of your parents a doctor?”

Roxas shakes his head. Although both Mom and Dad have always taken care of the small scratches, burns and what not that are bound to happen with three boys in the house, it is true that neither of them is a doctor; Mom owns a bakery and Dad is a police officer.

“Then you have to let Mother take care of those cuts. She’ll be happy that I’ve made a friend.”

The word ‘friend’ makes something flutter inside Roxas’s chest and he smiles, shy and happy. He has never been lonely, not when he has an identical twin and an older brother who makes them a triplet in all but age, but he has never had a friend outside of family. He hadn’t known making one could be so easy.

Unaware of Roxas’s smile and his musings, the boy continues talking while leading Roxas towards a yellow two-storey house with a large porch and a white picket fence. It looks just as idyllic as any other house in the neighbourhood. “We only moved here a month ago and most of our neighbours are old people who don’t have kids my age.” He glances back over his shoulder to shoot Roxas a curious look. “How old are you anyway?”

“I’m six.”

Something like disappointment transforms the boy’s face into a scowl and Roxas ponders if he should add _and three months_ but before he can, there’s a decisive nod of the head and the boy is speaking again, turning around to face Roxas fully as he does so. “I just turned seven, but one year isn’t such a difference, I guess. We can be friends. I’m Axel. What’s your name?”

There is a broad, brilliant smile on the redhead’s face that Roxas can’t help but mirror with a smile of his own. His insides feel warm and he has all but forgotten the stinging pain still pulsing in his palms and knees.

“Roxas.”

“Nice to meet you Rox—.” Axel’s gaze flutters to the right and he slaps himself in the forehead. “Your bike! We can’t leave it in the middle of the pavement, someone might steal it. Let me get it and then we’ll go show your cuts to Mother.”

Axel runs to where Roxas’s bike is sprawled on the pavement, wheels sticking in odd directions. Roxas takes the chance to observe the other boy more closely, something he hasn’t dared to do earlier in the conversation because Mom has told him it is rude to stare at someone. But Axel can’t see him staring when he’s busy retrieving the bike.

Axel is tall, even taller than Sora, who is a year older. Add to that the screaming red hair that sticks out in every possible direction and the emerald eyes and it makes Axel a rather striking figure, at least in Roxas’s opinion. He is lanky in some places and chubby in others, a weird mix of sharp angles and round edges. The clothes he’s wearing look new; an orange t-shirt and khaki shorts with no unravelled threads or weird stains that never come off in the wash. Half of Roxas’s wardrobe consists of hand-me-downs from Sora and the only consolation is that Ventus shares the same fate. But Axel doesn’t seem to have that problem. No, he looks very cool in his outfit and Roxas fidgets self-consciously with the hem of his blue Spiderman t-shirt that was originally Sora’s, not realising he’s smearing it with blood. He hopes Axel won’t notice how the colour is blotchy in places and how the shirt is probably a size too big for him.

It doesn’t take long for Axel to return with the bike. “Alright, let’s go get you patched up,” he says as he parks it next to the porch.

Axel leads Roxas up to the porch, the steps creaking softly under their feet. Roxas’s stomach is churning with nerves, his hands pressed tightly against his shorts — bloodying them as well — and his lungs can’t seem to draw in enough air. He has never visited anyone’s house all by himself because he is usually glued by the hip with his brothers. With Sora drawing most of the attention to himself with his bubbly personality, Roxas has never felt too much pressure about making a good first impression. He hopes Axel’s mother won’t hate him.

“I like your shirt,” Axel comments as he holds the front door open for Roxas. Roxas ducks his head and blushes while muttering a thank you to the unexpected compliment. Suddenly he is very grateful for Sora’s obsession with superheroes. “I think we have Spiderman plasters somewhere unless Mother threw them away when we moved. I don’t mind letting you use them if you want them.”

Roxas does want them.

Axel’s mother, Elena, turns out to be a tall woman with long hair just as red as Axel’s and kind eyes with wrinkles from laughing too much. She picks out the small stones buried into his flesh with tweezers and steady hands, cleans Roxas’s cuts with careful caresses, lets him hold her hand when the disinfectant stings more than the wounds themselves and hands him a tissue when tears eventually break free from their confines. All the while, Axel talks a mile a minute about Flurry the cat, the new house and how they still have some boxes left to unpack, films he thinks Roxas should watch, books he should read and bands he should listen to. Occasionally Elena gently reminds Axel to let Roxas speak as well, but he never has much to say, enraptured as he is by the superior knowledge Axel possesses of the world.

He thinks he will never tire of listening to Axel talk.

An hour later, Roxas leaves Axel’s house as the proud new owner of four shiny red-and-blue Spiderman plasters. At the door, Axel’s mother asks one last time if he is sure he doesn’t want to stay for dinner. “We’re having pizza, and I always make too much for just two people.”

Roxas wants to stay, wants to hear more about Axel’s life and maybe start talking about his own, but he has food waiting at home as well as a scolding that he can’t put off hearing for too much longer. Elena ruffles his hair before she turns back inside, telling him he is welcome to come over any time he wants. Roxas feels like he’s floating.

Axel walks him back to the road, uncharacteristically quiet and fidgeting with a silver necklace Roxas hadn’t noticed before. There’s a pendant hanging from the chain, but Roxas can’t make out the shape with Axel’s fingers in the way. He almost asks, but then Axel pushes the piece of jewellery back under his collar and Roxas decides that if Axel wanted to talk about the necklace, he would volunteer the information freely.

(Later, Roxas finds out the pendant depicts a flurry of flames, the last gift from Axel’s father who one day had packed his bags and left while Axel was visiting a friend and his mother was at work, leaving behind only a note that told them not to expect him back for dinner, or ever. It is the reason why they had moved and why Axel’s mother can never cook food for just two people.)

“I’ll see you again, right?” Axel asks when Roxas is about to turn away and head home with his bike. His voice is shaking a bit and he is avoiding looking at Roxas, his eyes wandering anywhere but him.

“Of course,” Roxas says immediately, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and Axel’s shoulders visibly relax. “If you want to, you can come and play football with me and my brothers tomorrow.”

Axel’s eyes widen and Roxas finds himself laughing at the stunned expression. “You have brothers? Why didn’t you tell me? I thought we were friends, Roxas.”

As light as Axel’s tone is, Roxas can’t push aside the image of Axel looking so unsure only a minute earlier and so he lets his bike topple over to the ground as he reaches for Axel and pulls him into a hug. The other boy stands still and rigid for a second before he releases a breath and hugs Roxas back with fierce relief, enveloping him in _warmth_.

“We are. We’re best friends.”

When Roxas gets home, his dad is in the kitchen, cooking something that smells like lasagne. Roxas tries to sneak past him to change into something that would cover the plasters on his knees, but Cloud hasn’t lived with three boys who sometimes like to make trouble without learning all of their tricks. He turns around, a frown already in place, and Roxas freezes and resigns to his fate.

Usually Roxas feels thoroughly admonished after one of his dad’s lectures but this time his head is too full of fire-red hair, warm skin and mesmerising eyes to really pay attention. He gives up his bike-riding rights for two weeks without protest because he is eager to ask if Axel is allowed to visit them tomorrow. Dad only sighs gently and tells him that yes, yes he is, and Roxas is sure his face will crack from smiling too much.

Late that night, when they are all supposed to be asleep, Roxas, Ventus and Sora huddle close together in Roxas’s bed as he recounts his encounter with the redhead who is cooler than anyone Roxas has ever seen before and owns a cat and whose mother can probably heal people with a touch. Ventus and Sora listen with wide, bright eyes and when Roxas tells them that Axel will join them for football the following day, they have trouble keeping their voices down. Roxas chuckles at their enthusiasm, not a trace of worry in his mind that either of his brothers would end up becoming better friends with Axel than himself.

Because he and Axel aren’t just friends.

They’re _best_ friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit (Feb 2019): This first chapter was initially posted under a different name and as a oneshot last August, but I've finally decided to continue it (it was supposed to be longer from the start, but I ran out of time and I wanted to post something on AkuRoku day). I can't promise frequent or regular updates at the moment, as I really need to focus on my master's thesis and I'm an atrociously slow writer, but I am determined to finish this story now that I have the pressure of x/? haunting me, haha. 
> 
> The new title of the fic is from Taylor Swift's "This Love". The name had to be changed as my plans for the story changed, and the old name didn't really fit anymore. It was also from a Taylor Swift song, though.
> 
> I hope you like it! If you do, please consider leaving a comment and/or kudos. Constructive criticism is also always appreciated! :) And if you catch any mistakes, please let me know; English isn't my first language.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Roxas is seven years old, he makes a promise.

When Roxas is seven years old, he makes a promise.

It is the day of Ventus’s and his birthday and Roxas spends it surrounded by his family and other relatives who he only really sees a few times a year at different celebrations. More often than not he can’t remember half of their names, but he thinks it’s okay because they can never tell him and Ventus apart, always exclaiming how they look exactly the same when Roxas _knows_ that they don’t; Ventus’s hair is a shade darker than his and he has a scar at the corner of his left eye from the time Sora opened the bathroom door just as he was running by. That his relatives haven’t picked up on these differences and dozens of others tells Roxas that they don’t really care and in that case, he doesn’t really care to learn their names.

Roxas would have been perfectly happy celebrating Ventus’s and his joint birthday with only a handful of people, but Ventus loves family gatherings. His twin had insisted on inviting even their estranged great aunt who drinks too much and hates everyone and everything, but _adores_ Ventus more than she adores the small flasks tucked away in her many pockets. Their mom and dad had initially objected, but had given in at the first tell-tale quiver of Ventus’s lower lip. No one, absolutely no one bears to see Ventus upset, which is why he usually gets what he wants. Sometimes Roxas wants to be angry about it, but he can’t muster that for more than a minute because he knows he probably hates it the most when something manages to turn Ventus’s ever-smiling face into a sad emoji.

And so Roxas puts up with endless preparations for their birthday party. He tidies up his side of the room he shares with Ventus and helps his mom decorate two large cakes because no one wants to repeat the fiasco of two years ago when the twins had shared a cake and blowing out the candles had quickly escalated into a competition which escalated into a fight which escalated into the cake being all over everyone’s clothes. He even endures wearing a ridiculous party hat which his dad scribbles the letter R on in order to avoid awkward situations where Roxas is handed a gift with Ventus’s name. Not that it matters, Roxas thinks, since he is sure that separate gifts from the same relative contain identical presents anyway.

The only consolation for Roxas is that he is allowed to invite Axel and his mother. They arrive when the party is already in full swing and Roxas has been forced to hug too many relatives, his skin itching from the constant touching. Ventus is a ball of energy at his side, chatting animatedly with everyone about his first year at elementary school. Roxas knows he is doing it in half because he genuinely likes being around people and in half because he knows Roxas doesn’t like being the centre of attention. Roxas is fiercely grateful for it.

Roxas spots the pair the moment they walk through the door. It’s kind of hard not to, their height and fire engine red hair ensuring they catch people’s attention wherever they go. It also helps that Roxas has kept his eyes trained on the door ever since the first guests arrived, his muscles tense with excitement every time the door opens, only for his shoulders to slump as his mother ushers in another group of relatives whose faces Roxas can only vaguely remember after years of knowing them.

But the faces that are making their way to him right now Roxas knows as well as he knows the faces of his brothers.

“You came!” he exclaims when Axel and Elena are close enough that he doesn’t have to shout over the murmur of conversations taking place all around the room and in the garden as his relatives fill each other in on the mundane happenings of their lives since the last time they were all gathered in one place.

 “Of course we did.” Elena hands the wrapped presents to Axel before bending down to pull Roxas into the first hug of the day that he is in no hurry to escape from. The soft fabric of Elena’s emerald green dress feels comforting against Roxas’s cheek as he nuzzles into her warmth. “Happy birthday, sweetheart,” she whispers into his ear. Roxas squeezes her more tightly in return, calmed by the knowledge that she won’t step away until he is ready to let go of her. Elena’s hugs are great like that, and they only come second to his mother’s.

After a minute or so, when Roxas’s muscles have lost some of their tension, he pulls away slowly. Elena gives him a fond smile as she pats his cheek before turning to congratulate Ventus with a hug as well. Ventus and Sora are frequent visitors at Axel and Elena’s house. They tag along behind Roxas at least once a week because they, as they say, can’t let Axel hog all of Roxas’s free time to himself. In truth, Roxas knows they just love Elena’s cooking, and she never says no to three extra mouths around her table. Roxas doesn’t mind sharing Axel and her mother with his brothers, he really doesn’t, but he cannot help the tiny, satisfied smirk when the hug Elena gives Ventus is much shorter than the one he got.

Roxas’s attention is drawn away from Elena when Axel dumps the presents to a nearby table and almost tackles Roxas to the ground with the force of his bear hug. “Happy birthday, Roxas!” he exclaims, and Roxas only manages to fight the urge to flinch away from the loud words uttered so close to his ear because he is used to this, is used to the way Axel doesn’t know how to control the volume of his voice when he’s excited, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Roxas smiles as he wraps his arms around Axel’s lanky form, immensely relieved to finally have the familiarity of his best friend there by his side.

“Thank you.”

When they release each other from the crushing hug, Elena has already disappeared into the crowd, but Axel seems to be in no hurry to follow her. He gives Ventus an enthusiastic high five before turning back to Roxas, tapping the yellow party hat perched on top of Roxas’s blond hair as he chuckles. “Nice hat. What does the R stand for? Royalty?”

Right, the hat. For a moment, Roxas had forgotten about the stupid hat that only serves to remind him that people don’t see just him when they look at him, they always see Ventus, too. It is always RoxasVentus or VentusRoxas, never just _Roxas_. Not that he would ever give Ventus up, no, he loves his twin more than he loves probably anything else in the world, but sometimes he wishes he didn’t feel like a package deal. Buy one, and get one for free.

Roxas ducks his head as Ventus lets out a ringing laugh. “What does the V on my hat stand for, then?”

“I don’t know. Waiter, maybe? That’s how it usually goes, I think. The older twin gets the crown and the younger one has to serve them.”

As Ventus sputters indignantly, objecting that Roxas _is only 13 minutes older_ and that _waiter doesn’t even start with a v_ , Roxas glances up to see Axel beaming at him with a familiar warmth in his shockingly green eyes, and suddenly he doesn’t mind wearing the party hat all that much. Because Axel doesn’t need the visual reminder to tell them apart. Because Axel doesn’t mind teasing Ventus if it means it will make Roxas smile.

Because to Axel, Roxas is _Roxas_ , not RoxasVentus.

Roxas shoots Axel a grateful smile, and Axel’s eyes crinkle.

* * *

The rest of the party goes by in a blur of too bright colours and too many people and too much cake. Roxas wants to escape to his room more than once, but there is always a comforting hand sliding into his whenever the thought crosses his mind and Roxas doesn’t even have to look to know it’s Axel’s. The searing warmth always gives him away.

Eventually, however, the party quiets down, and Roxas is hugging his grandmother goodbye, honestly sorry to see her go because she is one of the few relatives Roxas treasures. She ruffles his hair when they part, the party hat having been discarded on a table after the candles had been blown out, and tells him to eat more. Then she is gone.

“Roxas!” He turns at the sound of his name to find Axel bounding up to him, filled with too much energy to stand still. “Mother says we can have a sleepover at our house! It’s the weekend so we can stay up late and we might even have time to go to the beach before the sun sets. Mother says she’ll drive to the store and buy us some snacks as well.” Axel grabs onto Roxas’s hands and pulls them to his chest. “Please say you’ll come!”

Roxas is already nodding his head halfway through Axel’s plead, eager to spend more time with his best friend after the exhausting day, but then his gaze drifts to the handful of guests still mingling about, and he hesitates. None of them are relatives he is close to, but it is _his_ birthday party, and he thinks it will be rude to leave before them.

“I don’t think I –,” he starts, but is cut off when Elena walks up to them, smiling gently at their joined hands.

“It’s okay, Roxas, Cloud and Aerith don’t mind. I already ran our plans through with them. They’ll pack your overnight bag and bring it over a bit later once everyone has left.” Elena places a hand on Axel’s shoulder, pulling him to her side to place a kiss in his hair. Axel makes a face, but burrows deeper into her. “Shall we go?”

Roxas nods so enthusiastically, he almost strains his neck.

* * *

They make it to the beach just down the road from where they live in time to watch the horizon turn into a watercolour painting of brilliant reds, oranges and yellows. After the busy day of tolerating people crowding his personal space, Roxas can’t think of a better way to recharge his people batteries than this; watching the sun set behind the gentle sway of the waves while eating sea salt ice cream on the beach with a purring ball of red fur in his lap and an almost-purring ball of red hair by his side. Flurry the cat often likes to trail behind him and Axel whenever they decide to walk to the beach to enjoy the tranquil moment of the world getting ready to sleep — which is almost every other day if the weather allows it, now that Roxas thinks about it. It’s a tradition of sorts for them, one that they started soon after they first met back in August and picked up again last month when the April sun started to warm the air after the short winter. It’s a chance for them to be just by themselves without the sometimes overbearing kindness of both of their mothers, the ever-watchful presence of Roxas’s dad or the inextinguishable energy of Sora and Ventus. Roxas’s brothers had joined them on their trips to watch the sunset at first, but it only took a week for them to realise that Roxas and Axel were truly only interested in the sunset.

“C’mon, let’s race down the beach!” Sora had pleaded on their third trip while Ventus had wanted to build the world’s largest sand castle. Roxas and Axel had shared a look and only shaken their heads in reply.

“This is so boooooring!” Sora had flopped down onto the sand and pouted like someone had taken away his favourite action figurine.

Since then, Roxas and Axel have been allowed to enjoy sunsets in peace, with Flurry occasionally joining them as their silent companion.

(Flurry usually curls in Roxas’s lap and Axel says it’s because she has adopted Roxas into her family and trusts him more than Axel to not get sand in her fur. The first time it had happened, Axel’s words had awakened fragile butterflies made of glass in Roxas’s stomach and he’d had to swallow a few times before insisting that she trusts Axel, too, but he’s just too warm. Axel had laughed and pretended not to notice how gently, so achingly gently, Roxas had run his hand through the soft fur.)

When the spectacle provided by nature is reaching its peak in front of their eyes, a thought crosses Roxas’s mind.

“Hey Ax,” he says, grinning up at his friend who has almost finished his ice cream. Roxas’s is long gone by that point. “I’m as old as you now.”

It takes a while for Axel to reply as he licks at the tiny stump of blue ice cream left on the stick. The glow of the setting sun brings out the colour of his hair and Roxas thinks it looks like real fire. He has the urge to touch it to make sure his best friend isn’t burning alive in front of his eyes.

“No, you’re not.”

Roxas frowns at Axel who still hasn’t taken his eyes off the setting sun. “But… you’re seven and I’m seven.”

“No, I’m seven years, eight months and 22 days old.” Axel finally turns to Roxas, pointing at him with his ice cream stick. There’s a smirk on his face that tells Roxas that Axel has been waiting the whole day to inform him of the fact. “You’re seven years and zero days old. That makes you still younger than me.”

Roxas sticks his tongue out to Axel. “Whatever, know-it-all.” He returns to petting Flurry and gazing at the blushing sea, trying to keep his face neutral to hide how it bothers him that there is such a gap between their ages. The age difference has never seemed to trouble Axel — apart from the brief look of disappointment the first day they had met — but Roxas sometimes fears that Axel, being eight months and 22 days older and a year above Roxas, will one day find him boring and childish. Then he feels guilty for doubting their friendship for even one second because Axel has never given, and will never give, reason for that.

There is a stretch of silence, and Roxas doesn’t need to wrack his brain for things to say because silences with Axel are rarely, if ever, uncomfortable. Axel doesn’t expect him to talk all the time like many other people do just because his brothers are chatterboxes who don’t know how to keep quiet even in their sleep. With Axel, Roxas can stay silent when he wants to and speak when he feels like it and know his words will be heard because Axel may be even more talkative than Roxas’s brothers sometimes, but he always, always, _always_ listens when Roxas speaks up. He never makes Roxas feel like his words don’t matter, like he is speaking into a void and no one can hear him. Because Axel always does.

Despite the lull in conversation, the world around them is alive with sound. Roxas allows himself to close his eyes and focus on the low murmur of the waves as they lap at the shore, the screeches of seagulls on their eternal quest for more food, the whispered secrets and sounds of traffic carried by the wind, and the endless purring from Flurry. It’s peaceful, just like it always is. The beach is a small one and rarely crowded even during the day, people preferring the larger beaches of Destiny Islands with softer sand and better facilities for changing out of swimwear and using the toilet. It has suited the needs of Roxas and his family more than well, though, and Roxas thinks there couldn’t be a better spot for watching the sunset with his best friend.

His best friend who has been uncharacteristically quiet for the past few minutes because even when Axel doesn’t say anything, he tends to hum under his breath or snort unexpectedly at something he’s thinking about.

When Roxas opens his eyes, Axel is staring at the ground with a defeated expression, his shoulders slumped like someone had suddenly dumped the weight of the world on them. It’s the look Axel always gets when he thinks about his father or his peers at school who have branded him as too different; too tall, too smart, too excitable; his hair too red, his eyes too green, his laugh too loud. Roxas doesn’t understand how they cannot see how _just enough_ Axel is in every way – not too much anything nor too little, but just enough, just perfect.

“Ax, what’s wrong?” Roxas asks, reaching out with one hand to tangle his fingers with Axel’s and give comfort the way the redhead had comforted him during his birthday party. Axel’s hand is shaking.

Axel jumps and there’s a startled look on his face when he glances up, but his green eyes are transparent and brittle like ice, as if waiting to be crushed under someone’s foot. “I… It’s… It’s nothing,” he mumbles and turns away.

But Roxas is having none of that. He scoots closer to Axel to give him the physical contact Roxas knows he craves when he’s upset about something. Flurry lets out a disgruntled meow at the movement, but Roxas ignores her because his best friend needs him.

Leaning his head on Axel’s shoulder, Roxas glues himself to the other boy’s side and waits. Despite the dismissal, Roxas has learnt that Axel will talk about things that bother him when given enough time.

After a few minutes of watching the waning sun, Axel sighs. “Do you think I’m annoying?” The question is barely audible, a trembling sort of a whisper.

“What?” Roxas pulls away slightly to stare at Axel who refuses to meet his eyes. “Of course not! What makes you think that?”

Axel shrugs, but it's too stiff to be casual. “It’s just that people at school also call me a know-it-all or a smartass. I know you didn’t mean it the same way, but I also know I talk a lot and I _am_ nit-picky over the stupidest things. If I were you, I’d definitely find myself annoying.”

Roxas’s heart aches. His heart aches for this boy who walked into it the first time they met and made it his home, and Roxas knows it would feel terribly empty if Axel was ever to walk out of it. His heart aches for his best friend who acts like he’s invincible to hide how very, _very_ fragile he is inside. His heart aches for Axel whom he loves like he’s family because that’s what he is, isn’t he? Family.

Instead of voicing his thoughts, Roxas lets go of Axel’s hand to fully embrace him. Even Flurry seems to catch on her owner’s mood as she leaps from Roxas’s lap into Axel’s, butting her head against his arm. Axel sits there motionless, and Roxas can tell he’s trying not to cry.

“I like it when you say smart things,” Roxas assures him, his head nestled in the crook of Axel’s neck. Being so tightly curled around the redhead, Roxas can physically feel the way Axel’s body relaxes.

“Do you really mean that?” Axel’s voice is hesitant, but Roxas can hear the start of a smile in it, too.

Roxas’s answer is short, but he knows Axel will understand the sincerity behind it. “Yeah.”

Axel releases a breath at that, and wraps an arm around Roxas’s shoulders to pull him even closer. Roxas turns his head enough to see his other hand is petting Flurry who purrs, a happy, satisfied sound.

“I’m glad you’re my best friend.”

Roxas cranes his neck to glance up and finds Axel already looking at him with an expression that Roxas wishes he could take a picture of, just so he’d always have the memory of Axel looking so peaceful and happy, the setting sun bathing his face in a soft, pink glow.

“And I always will be.” Roxas taps Axel’s nose with his finger and giggles when it scrunches up.

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

“Pinky promise?”

Roxas rolls his eyes, but holds up his hand with his pinky extended. Axel hooks his around it, and they swear on being best friends forever and ever, the most sacred vow a pair of seven-year-olds could make.

The air is heavy with something Roxas cannot name as they turn to watch the dying light of the sun. It feels like a new beginning, full of hope, even though their friendship was never in any danger of ending. But somehow it is more solid now, resting steady on the foundation of the newly-made promise.

“Hey, Roxas,” Axel says when the sun is ready to disappear behind the horizon, lingering tendrils of red still clinging onto the sky, “I bet you don’t know why the sun sets red.”

Roxas doesn’t, so he turns to Axel, urging him to continue without having to say a single word.

“You see, light is made up of lots of colours. And out of all those colours, red is the one that shines the brightest.”

Axel shoots Roxas a brilliant smile, and even though years later Roxas will learn the real reason why the sun sets red, in that moment, as he watches his best friend ramble on about light and colours, his hair seemingly glowing with a light of its own, he can’t help but agree: _Yes, yes it is._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How do children think/talk/function? I definitely don't know so Roxas and Axel probably don't seem like they're seven years old, whoops, sorry. 
> 
> I hope you like it! If you do, please consider leaving a comment and/or kudos. Constructive criticism is also always appreciated! :) And if you catch any mistakes, please let me know; English isn't my first language.


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